Noli me tangere / Manuscript
IPL-04 Disegno Lectures / Art History /
Working with Coordinates
In line with the practice of Disegno, we ask about movement, we ask how and in what movement manifests itself, and to what extent the tension between movement and its manifestation determines us and our interaction.
The question of movement is at the same time the question of what is actualised on the stage (the image, the sculpture, the film, the notation, the novel, and so on), or more precisely, which sequences of movement are encoded in the score.
The question of manifestation is also the question of the construction of what we call reality, whose coordinates we can determine and measure.
The question of the tension between movement and its manifestation, and thus the coordinates of the same, focuses on the relationship in which we find ourselves (or lose ourselves) between the hidden and the unhidden, that is, between the indeterminable possibilities and the assumptions resulting from calculation.
The encounter takes place in a garden, or more precisely in a place with wild vegetation and caves in the rock used for burials. Mary Magdalene recognises the risen Jesus in the man whom she initially thought was a gardener, someone who cultivates the barren land. She wants to touch him, but he rejects her: “Don’t touch me! Noli me tangere!”
We are not interested here in the question of religious, art-historical or psychological classification. We are asking about the actual space of the event and how it manifests itself in the paintings. We want to uncover the code of the movement, and therefore look at the proportional structure in which the acting figures stand in relation to one another.
We will begin with a brief introduction to the history of the motif. This is followed by a description of the methodological approach and then the specific task, which should be carried out in three steps:
Step 1: Select at least 6 different motifs from the templates. Isolate the relational space of the figures in the prescribed way.
Step 2: Compare the figures in terms of the symmetries and proportions that result from the position of the figures in relation to each other. Note down the results, concentrating only on the proportions of the shapes. Make an overview of both the shapes and their descriptions.
Step 3: Translate the construct that encodes the relational space into three-dimensional shapes. This can be done by either analogue or digital means.
The aim is to objectify the relational space in such a way that, on the one hand, it can be related to the underlying artwork (e.g. by using colours, patterns or pictorial elements taken from the respective image) and, on the other hand, it has its own aesthetic and possibly functional qualities.
The form that emerges from the interaction of the figures can therefore be conceived as a non-functional sculpture or as an object that can be used in a narrower or broader sense, such as a piece of furniture, a vessel, a bag or similar. It is also important to formulate a reference to the underlying theme of the painting.
The "Noli me tangere", Motif in Art History
The phrase Noli me tangere (Latin for "Do not touch me") originates from the Gospel of John, where the resurrected Christ speaks these words to Mary Magdalene when she recognizes him outside his tomb. This moment, often depicted in Christian art, symbolizes both the reality of Christ’s resurrection and the transformed nature of his existence—one that is beyond physical touch. Throughout history, the Noli me tangere motif has been a central subject for many renowned artists, each interpreting it through their own artistic and theological lens. From early Christian art to the Renaissance, Baroque, and modern periods, the scene has evolved in composition, symbolism, and emotional intensity, reflecting the changing artistic styles and religious beliefs of different eras.
This essay will explore the most significant representations of Noli me tangere in Western art history, analyzing how different artists have portrayed this sacred encounter and how their works fit within the broader artistic and cultural context of their times.
Few motifs in Western art possess the enigmatic depth and enduring resonance of Noli me tangere, the moment of hesitant recognition and divine withdrawal between the risen Christ and Mary Magdalene. Originating from the Gospel of John, where Christ utters these words to the Magdalene upon her attempt to touch him, this phrase encapsulates both an assertion of physical and metaphysical transformation and a veiled refusal that has perplexed theologians, artists, and poets alike. The narrative, simple in its structure yet profound in its implications, has given rise to centuries of visual reimaginings, each tethered to the theological, cultural, and artistic currents of its time.
From the earliest Christian imagery onward, Noli me tangere has been a moment steeped in symbolic tension, a balance of yearning and prohibition, closeness and distance. The scene, appearing in fourth- and fifth-century catacomb frescoes and sarcophagi reliefs, was often rendered with the stiff solemnity of early Christian iconography: Christ, rigid and hieratic, raises a hand in an unmistakable gesture of benediction while Mary, depicted in the act of genuflection, reaches forward in reverence. The emphasis here is not on human intimacy but on the unbridgeable chasm between the divine and the mortal, a relationship circumscribed by awe rather than familiarity. This visual language persisted through Byzantine mosaics, in which Christ, clad in resplendent white, is delineated against an eternal gold backdrop, reinforcing his transcendence. Yet, despite the theological orthodoxy of these depictions, a kernel of narrative drama remained—Mary’s outstretched hand, the physical desire to bridge a distance that Christ insists must remain.
With the Gothic and early Renaissance periods came a transformation in artistic sensibilities, one that subtly reoriented the Noli me tangere scene towards greater emotional immediacy and spatial complexity. Giotto’s fresco in the Arena Chapel, painted around 1305, is a seminal example. His Christ, no longer a remote celestial figure, turns dynamically, caught mid-step, as if already departing from the earthly realm. Mary, her robes pooling in folds of tender realism, leans forward with an expression that is both sorrowful and astonished, emphasizing the poignancy of her recognition. Here, the encounter ceases to be purely doctrinal; it becomes psychologically charged, imbued with the weight of human longing.
At the heart of the Noli me tangere motif lies an unresolved tension that later centuries would explore with increasing audacity: the nature of the bond between Christ and Mary Magdalene. While orthodox tradition has cast Mary as the repentant sinner, the devoted disciple, or even the embodiment of the Church itself, there has always been an undercurrent of speculation—both in theological discourse and in artistic renderings—that she was something more. The apocryphal Gospel of Philip, discovered at Nag Hammadi, refers to Mary Magdalene as Christ’s most beloved companion, suggesting a depth of intimacy that official canon sought to suppress. Certain medieval legends and mystical traditions likewise hinted at a sacred marriage, a lost union that, in some tellings, formed the foundation of an esoteric wisdom passed through hidden generations.
It is against this backdrop of theological ambiguity that Renaissance artists such as Titian and Correggio approached the subject with an ever more sensual sensitivity. Titian’s Noli me tangere, painted around 1514, departs strikingly from earlier iconographies. Here, Christ is not an aloof deity but a living, breathing man, his flesh rendered with the warmth and vitality of Venetian colorism. He stands barefoot in the grass, his robes half-loosened, his presence almost pastoral in its quiet humanity. Mary, her body turned in supplication, is bathed in the golden light of Titian’s palette, her form evoking not merely spiritual devotion but a kind of ardent, if restrained, physical longing. This is no longer simply a moment of theological instruction—it is a farewell between two figures whose connection transcends doctrine, a separation that feels all the more intimate for its tenderness.
If Titian’s vision infuses the scene with a lyrical sensuality, Correggio, working in the early 16th century, takes it further into the realm of movement and theatricality. His Christ, in a swirling composition that anticipates the dynamism of the Baroque, seems to physically recoil from Mary’s touch, his robes twisting with the energy of departure. And yet, the very drama of the pose suggests the intensity of what is left unsaid, of an emotional force that finds no resolution in words or gestures. It is as if the greater the prohibition, the greater the implied bond—an idea that would only grow in potency with the artistic developments of the 17th century.
The Baroque, with its love of contrast, shadow, and deeply felt emotion, lent itself naturally to the Noli me tangere theme. Artists such as Rembrandt and Rubens approached the subject with a heightened psychological realism, delving into the depths of Mary’s grief and Christ’s mystery. Rembrandt’s etching of 1638, for example, is striking in its restraint: his Mary is not the florid penitent of earlier depictions but a woman caught in a moment of quiet realization, her body hesitating between recognition and disbelief. The Christ of this scene is an ambiguous figure, half-formed in the darkness, his presence liminal, as though already dissolving into another realm.
The Romantic period saw a resurgence of interest in Mary Magdalene, particularly through the lens of her supposed marginalization and her potential as a figure of lost knowledge. This was the era in which artists such as James Tissot sought to restore historical accuracy to biblical scenes, stripping away the idealized classicism of earlier interpretations in favor of ethnographic precision. His Noli me tangere series, painted in the late 19th century, presents Christ and Mary in garments faithful to first-century Palestine, placing the scene within a carefully reconstructed biblical world. And yet, for all its scholarly rigor, there remains in Tissot’s work a haunting romanticism, a sense that this encounter is not merely historical but emblematic of something far older, a farewell that echoes across time.
Contemporary artists have approached Noli me tangere with fresh interpretative freedom, often breaking from traditional religious frameworks.
One striking example is Sabine Herrmann’s 2021 work Noli me tangere, which departs from representational forms and instead translates the moment into a highly abstract, gestural expression. Herrmann’s work, with its layered textures and elusive contours, evokes the tension of presence and absence in a way that resonates with the theme’s core paradox. Rather than depicting the figures of Christ and Mary Magdalene in literal terms, Herrmann uses color, movement, and form to suggest the experience of encounter and withdrawal, the impossibility of grasping the divine. Her interpretation highlights the contemporary fascination with Noli me tangere as not merely a biblical episode but an existential meditation on longing, recognition, and the ephemeral nature of connection.
Yet for all these variations, the core of the Noli me tangere moment remains unchanged: it is a threshold, a space between knowing and unknowing, touch and withdrawal, presence and absence. Whether in the restrained solemnity of early Christian reliefs, the luminous sensuality of Titian, the emotional depth of Rembrandt, or the radical reframings of the modern era, the gesture of refusal remains a paradox. In denying the Magdalene’s touch, Christ affirms a mystery that cannot be resolved by proximity alone—a mystery that, across centuries of artistic reinvention, continues to invite both longing and wonder.
Method
The following can be said about the body's locomotor system: shoulders and hips correspond to a linkage with only moderate mobility; the lower extremities are used for standing and locomotion, and only in exceptional cases for contact; arms and hands are predestined for this; from body to body, the locomotor system of the upper limbs demands that the purely symmetrical relationship be overcome in order to realise the potential togetherness.
The right shoulder of one figure points to the left shoulder of the other. My left arm to your right arm, the left hand to the right hand. In flexible execution, starting from the respective position, a space-forming actuality of togetherness unfolds from the only mirrored identity.
In this way we isolate the relational space of the figures:
We draw a line from the right shoulder of figure A to the left shoulder of figure A.
From there to the left shoulder of figure B, to its right shoulder, back to the starting point: the right shoulder of figure A.
From there to the right crook of figure A's arm, to its left crook, from there to the left crook of figure B's arm, to its right crook, back to the starting point: the right crook of figure A's arm.
Continue to the right hand of figure A, to its left hand, from there to the left hand of figure B, to its right hand, back to the starting point: the right hand of figure A.
Now we close the form by drawing a line from the shoulder to the crook of the arm to the hand.
What can we read from the shapes if we focus solely on alignment and proportions?
For example: elongated, essentially horizontal, slightly funnel-shaped, opening into the third dimension from a single point, with two surfaces that stand out in proportion: a triangle and a displaced rectangle that dominate the right half of the shape, starting from the centre. To simplify the shape, it could be described as an elongated triangle lying on its horizontal axis and unfolding upwards.